For as long as history has recorded the actions of humans, people have felt the need to explain the mystery of life and death and to answer the questions of why we are here and where we are going. It’s man’s search for meaning, and it is quite possibly the thickest and most tangible thing rooting us all to life as we know it.

To the indigenous peoples of Mexico, all of life was understood in duality. Death was an ending, but it was also considered passage onto somewhere new. People would be buried with their most treasured possessions. It was believed they would need them in the hereafter. Like most traditional indigenous celebrations, the history of Dia de los Muertos was shaped by the invasion of the Spanish and their zest for bringing Catholicism to the native people. But the practices and the intent of the day has survived more than 3,500 years to be still celebrated worldwide.

Certainly Dia de los Muertos is a day for remembering the dead, but it is significantly more than that. This poignant and beautiful ritual is also a mockery of death. As the people make preparation, they laugh in the face of the very thing that humans tend to fear most. And there’s something about that which I find both haunting and heartwarming. Kind of like the photo in today’s blog (courtesy of the best husband on the planet, JM, who found it for me on the WWW!)

You see, like many of you, I know what it is to face death. I suffer from a disease that can only end up with me in the grave if it gets hold of me. I didn’t always call it that (a disease) and I don’t usually run around giving it human powers (such as saying, it wants me dead) but from the time that I first read Bill’s story, I felt that I finally understood what might be wrong with me. And there was tremendous relief in that. Here are the things he said that I identified with:

I was a part of life at last.

I forgot the strong warnings…concerning drink.

I fancied myself a leader.

I imagined my talent for leadership would put me at the head of vast enterprises.

The drive for success was on.

At one (bahaha! many many) of the finals I was too drunk to think or write.

(My) friends thought a lunacy commission should be appointed.

I had arrived.

Drink was taking an important and exhilarating part in my life.

My drinking assumed more serious proportions.

There were many unhappy scenes.

Golf (for me it was bartending) permitted drinking every day and night.

As I drank, the old fierce determination to win came back.

I found a job, then lost it (multiple times!)

Liquor ceased to be a luxury; it became a necessity.

Gradually things got worse.

I woke up. This had to be stopped.

This time I meant business.

Shortly afterward I came home drunk.

Was I crazy?

Was I crazy?

Was I crazy?

I truly didn’t know. I thought maybe I was. Sometimes I think I still am. I might sit outside under the sunshine on a perfect fall day and seriously ponder the possibility that I have an undiagnosed mental illness. Yet I’m sober. And I live another day to suit up and show up, just like you taught me to.

On this day, Dia de los Muertos, I celebrate Bill Wilson.

How a girl like me, who got sober more than 50 years after AA began, can find herself in the pages of a story written by an old man, an old banker, and identify her alcoholism there, I will never really understand. It’s a God thing I guess. It’s the thing I am most afraid to trust–that God has a plan; that it’s better than mine; that all is well; I am loved.

Dear Lord, it’s me Nina. Just trying to carry the vision of your will for me into all my affairs. How may I serve you? By doing the dishes? Again? I’m so glad my life was spared the torture of alcoholism so that I could have dish pan hands at 5:30 in the morning.

Bless the children…even the ones that slept over this past weekend and destroyed my living room. I have yet to get the silly string out of the dog’s fur, but whatever…she’s old.

I guess I’ll head out and go to the spa again, since you have provided no better job despite my enormous talent and genetic disposition for success. I realize you are ‘all-knowing’ and I think it unnecessary to elaborate on why that freaks me out so much. I, I, I, me, me, me. Self…ugh!

Can Chris Hayes from MSNBC give Rachel Maddow her whole Ellen D. meets 21 Jumpstreet look back? It works so much better on her, and frankly lord, she’s a better journalist. Aha! I have found gratitude this morning…for quasi decent journalism, and of course, for John Stewart Lord. Thank you for the laughs.

Can anyone save Netflix from Reed Hastings at this point? Maybe you can, Lord…if you’re not too busy watching over the agricultural scientists responsible for guarding our food supply from invasive species coming across the border (and no, I’m not talking about the immigrants–I still have the bleeding heart you left me with, though it’s taking quite a beating lately!) They’re so busy being reassigned to Homeland Security that the cantaloupe have contracted Listeria, whatever that is. Something germified that kills you.

First I ate everything, and then I had to eat everything organic. Now it’s not enough to eat organic, it has to be locally grown and have lived in a state of bliss before being eaten. I haven’t seen bacon in 27 weeks. I’m ready to shoot a pig myself for Sunday morning breakfast the way it used to be. Help me continue to love your creatures Lord, large and small, and treat them the way you would want them treated. And bless the Dalai Lama, he continues to carry the message.

By the way, I’m not sure the agri-scientists or homeland security have noticed, but Bin Laden is dead. It would have been easier to import the Listeria-laden cantaloupes to Pakistan years ago. I’m off track and should run these ideas by someone else.

Forgive me Lord. I have resentment against Jon Huntsman’s hair. I’m petty, shallow, obsessively critical. I’ve offered these defects hundreds of times in my 6 & 7…why are they still here?

I owe a 9…my gravy is lumpy as my sponsor would say. Where is my spiritual blender in this time of need?

Be with JM today as he heads off to campus for a day of intellectually stimulating conversation about the world’s ailments. When the TA is hot and young and blonde may he remember the wife who served him coffee in bed and picked up his boxer shorts off the floor. Fear, mistrust and suspicion. Jealousy, envy and lust (why was I not born blonde? I’m not fun enough to be blonde?)

Protect us Lord, and protect our children, from Wall Street, the President, the indecision of our now ‘SuperCongress’, and Joe the Plumber (You may not have heard yet…he’s running for office.)

It’s Wednesday, and I feel like shit. A shower and a cup of coffee might help as well as a few extra hours of sleep and a visit with a friend. Give me the good sense and the discipline to take care of myself this week. That of course will require you removing my penchant for being a martyr. Help the gay people in their global fight to live and love like the rest of us. You of all people know that if someone is willing to spend the rest of their life with another person, the world ‘oughta get out of their way.